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It’s such asimplegesture, yet it ignites a whirlwind of emotions within me. My heartbeat quickens, my breath catching in my throat, but he remains focused on the road ahead, seemingly unaffected by the intimacy of our touch. I wonder if he feels it, too; this electric current that seems to crackle between us whenever we’re close. I feel a sense of peace settle over me, a feeling of being right where I’m supposed to be. But all too soon, we arrive at my apartment, and he pulls into the driveway. He turns off the engine and looks at me, his gaze intense.

“Home sweet home,” he says softly, his hand still holding mine.Home.

I wonder what that would feel like with him. To come home tohimevery day, to share my life with him. The thought stirs something deep inside. Reluctantly, I withdraw my hand, feeling a sudden chill in its absence.

“Thank you for tonight,” I murmur. “I had a really great time.” His smile is genuine, heart-stopping.

“I did, too,” he replies softly. “We should... maybe do this again sometime.”

I nod, unable to find the words to express what I’m feeling. After a few moments of silence, I reach for the door handle, whispering, “Thanks again.”

Just as I start to exit, his voice stops me. “Wait.”

Before I can speak, he leans in, his warm hand cradling my cheek, and places a quick, tentative kiss on my lips. It’s not as passionate as earlier, but it’s sweet and leaves me smiling. When we pull apart, I’m left breathless, my heart racing in the most pleasant way.

He leans back, his eyes locked on mine, and a small, satisfied smile plays on his lips.

“Goodnight,Meli,” he whispers.

“Goodnight, Brad.”

I step out of the car, my legs feeling like jelly, as I watch him drive off—the memory of his kiss lingering on my lips.

25

My Side Of The Fence - Dan + Shay

Isit at my desk, surrounded by the usual chaos of the station. Despite the hustle and bustle, I can’t help but be amused by the banter between Daniels and Reynolds. Daniels’ cocky attitude always sparks a response from Reynolds, and their exchanges are a welcome distraction from the grim realities of our job.

There are good days, of course, but when things go south, they go south fast. In my years as a senior constable, I’ve seen things that would make your blood run cold. From domestic disputes spiralling out of control, to the aftermath of violent crimes, the job exposes you to the darkest sides of human nature. There was this one time, a grisly scene at a remote farm, and another incident involving a drug bust that turned violent. But it’s not just the violence; it’s the raw emotion, the despair in people’s eyes, that stays with you.

You have to be tough to make it in this profession.

I’ve never had to take a life in the line of duty, and I’m grateful for that. But there have been moments when the thought crossed my mind. I pray I’m never put in a position where I have to make that choice.

Amidst these thoughts, Daniels is currently boasting about his ability to charm anyone, while Reynolds remains sceptical. Stokes, always eager for entertainment, prods Daniels to demonstrate, much to Reynolds’ reluctance.

“You’re going to make me do this, in a room full of men?” Daniels protests, his scepticism evident.

Reynolds responds with a smirk, “Oh, come on, big boy. Too shy now?”

“Fuck, no. You’re lucky Faulkner isn’t around,” Daniels retorts before reluctantly agreeing. “Just go along with me, yeah? Pretend you’re the woman.” Reynolds frowns at the suggestion.

“What? Why the fuck am I the woman?”

“How else am I going to demonstrate?Youasked for it,” Daniels explains, and I can’t help but shake my head at their antics.

Daniels moves closer, picking up a bottle of hand cream from Reynolds’ desk to kick-start his gambit. Trust Reynolds to have hand cream on his desk. Ever since his wife said his hands are too rough, he’s been using it any chance he can get.

Reynolds dismisses the idea and says, “Forget it. Don’t worry,” before turning to walk back around to his desk, but Daniels’ words halt him before he can go further.

“Hey, the other day, I came across this word,” he says, pretending to study the label. “And for the life of me, I just can’t pronounce it. Is it Jo-jo-ba?” He exaggerates the ‘J’s’ harshly.

“No. It’s pronounced Ho-how-ba. The J is pronounced kinda like an H,” Reynolds replies.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t realise. What language is that?” Daniels feigns interest, moving closer to Reynolds.

“It’s a Spanish term. Not many people actually know about it.”